


Prickly Thorn, Sweetly Worn

by Railyard_Ghosts



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Body Worship, Comfort, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff, M/M, Naked Cuddling, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:27:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28487550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Railyard_Ghosts/pseuds/Railyard_Ghosts
Summary: With the Winter sun setting in, Ignis loses track of time easily when he gets too wrapped up in work -- but lucky for him, Noctis is always eager to call it a day and drag him off to bed.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 10
Kudos: 66
Collections: Ignoct New Years Gift Exchange 2020





	Prickly Thorn, Sweetly Worn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gay-theprayaway (gay_theprayaway)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gay_theprayaway/gifts).



> Hello, GTPA! I'm your Ignoct gifter!!
> 
> Truth be told, this is the first exchange I have EVER signed up for. I have only written original fiction for the past 20 years and only recently returned to fanfic after playing this wonderful game, which left me craving _more_. No lie, I about _died_ when I saw you were my giftee because your fic was some of the first (and hottest) I ever read, and I was really nervous about living up to writing as well as you, as well as meeting expectations. 
> 
> I hope this fic is everything you want and if it's not, I hope it's at least good enough to make you smile. 
> 
> Enjoy!!

Summer came; summer went. Autumn smacked into the Crown City overnight with chilly mornings, warm lunch hours, and evenings requiring jackets, and Winter followed with a gentle hand. As the daylight faded into longer darkness, green and red began snaking through the Citadel; prickly greens wrapped themselves around banisters and red-berried plants replaced the traditional silver vases. Not even Ignis’s office was safe from Solstice decorations; he found a poinsettia on his desk when he returned one evening and a living garland draped around the fireplace with red bows. There was a fire in the hearth that he never lit, bright and warm, and while it was nice for atmosphere, it was not something _he_ asked for. 

But Ignis only sighed and let it go. Someone was trying to be accommodating – and _festive_ – he supposed. 

Outside, snow smothered Insomnia. It fell in fat, fluffy flakes; weightless diamonds that alighted soundlessly on top of one another until it blanketed everything and suppressed every sound the city could possibly make. Even the large window in Ignis’s office collected the white fluff and the silence it brought only made the hearth feel louder. He thought he could even hear his pen glide across paper as he worked, and though his eyes were on the parchments, his mind was far away. 

The door creaking open was all it took to make him forget where. 

“Ignis?” 

Cool light poured in from the hall behind his Prince. Noctis was still dressed in traditional Lucian black, though the suit he was required to wear that morning was long gone; instead, he was at the end of his day in a (flattering) tank that bared his handsome shoulders and long, loose silk pants that looked more like pajamas than anything else. His steely-black hair was still damp – from a shower after a late-night sparring session, he guessed – and the eyeliner from the morning washed from his face. 

Noct looked ready to go to bed. Ignis glanced to the phone on the desk and yes, it was that time after all. He never adjusted to the loss of sunlight well; the days were getting shorter for months, yet he still found himself caught off-guard how time seemed to pass so quickly in the darkness of winter. 

“I’m coming,” Ignis said as he flipped the folio closed. A smile blossomed across his Prince’s face, and gods’ graves, the things he would _do_ for that handsome smile. 

Noct slipped inside and leaned on the door, holding it closed with his weight alone and grinning like the cat that ate the canary and had the cream, too. Sometimes Ignis hated being watched ending his workday … but also knew he needed it. Late nights bled into early mornings one too many times in the past, resulting in Noct making good on his promise to ‘drag him to bed if he had to’. Now Noct watched and waited with that smug grin as he arranged pens and papers and put everything back where it belonged; he nearly bounced on his heels when Ignis finally stood, and his prince didn’t hesitate to reach out and grab his hand the moment he was near – yet did not drag him out the hallway, oh no. 

Instead, Noct dragged him close, fisted the front of his shirt with his other hand and locked their lips and mouths together. 

Ignis didn’t feel the tension in his shoulders until it was suddenly gone. The prince’s mouth was warm and pliant against his own; his lips tasted like lip balm, his mouth like toothpaste. (If Ignis tasted only of bitter coffee, Noct didn’t let it show.) A groan slipped from his throat, long and low, and Ignis felt his skin prickle as his prince broke first, drawing back to touch their noses together; the hand on the front of his button-up dropped. 

“Let’s go,” Noct half-said half- _commanded._

And as he was led out of his office, Ignis knew he’d follow Noct anywhere. 

The Citadel halls were quieter in the later hour; calmer, less harried. Even the housekeeping staff was gone for the night and snow glistened where it collected on the windows. Ignis briefly wondered – _imagined_ even – where the others were as he rode the elevators up to the royal suites with Noct’s hand in his; Prompto, likely holed up at the Amicitia manor in anticipation of losing power in his apartment, and Gladio, happy to be the one to warm the tiny blond down to his very bones. 

Then the elevator dinged and Noct got off first, still half-dragging-half-pulling Ignis with him into his suite, and it looked easily similar to the way anyone imagined it might: everything from the ceiling to the floor to the furnishings was steely blue, black, grey, and silver, and the Prince himself looked right at home in it with moon-pale skin and steel-black hair. 

While Noct stripped down for bed, he let Ignis go through his own routine; strip down, fold half his clothing, turn others inside-out for air, socks and undershirt in the hamper, brush his hair and teeth. By the time Ignis shucked off his boxer-briefs and turned for the bed himself, Noct was snuggled down on his side and _watching_ him; one corner of his mouth was quirked up and the gleam in his eye was _bright_. Predatory, almost. 

Ignis felt his skin prickle. It offered some deep, instinctual pleasure to be looked at like that – like he was _attractive_. Desirable. More than a suit, more than a title or a signature at the bottom of a page – more than the armor he wore around the Citadel from day to day. 

More like a _human_.

Maybe it was vanity that slowed and elongated his stride; maybe it was the hungry look in Noct’s eyes as they raked over his skin. Maybe it was the simple need to _show off_ _–_ to show _yes,_ he _was_ worthy of his Prince’s love and desire. 

Ignis leaned forward on the bed’s edge and pushed onto it with that same slowness. He tried to imagine a coeurl – grace and strength, power and elegance – as he walked on his hands and knees for Noctis, and he was rewarded when velvet blue eyes failed to leave him. 

Noct rolled unceremoniously onto his back as he drew near. He pushed the blankets down, still grinning, still wearing that same smug and _predatory_ smile as he exposed himself like prey; he was all moon-pale skin, blemished here and there by blue and purple bruises from the training hall, dusted with a trail of fine black hair that traveled from his navel to the base of his cock. His ribs were like rolling hills, his belly soft and defined at the same time, and his muscled chest and arms still the best place to rest when the days were too long. 

Ignis stopped where the blankets were pushed down, his knees on either side of Noct’s; he kissed his organ at the root first and felt Noct shift slightly beneath him, thighs parting expectantly as fingers threaded into his hair. Ignis resisted the tug and lifted only slightly, kissing just below his navel next, the start of what he lovingly called _'_ _h_ _is favorite treasure trail’._ Noct tugged again; again, Ignis resisted, and pressed the next kiss to his belly, then his solar plexus, then his chest. 

Noct’s hands spread, black nails scraping from Ignis’s scalp to his back, clawing slightly at his shoulders. _Marking_ him. 

Ignis pressed the last kiss to his windpipe. Then, finally, he lifted his head and lowered his body, pressing their chests together as he gathered his Prince into his arms and pressed their lips together. Noct’s fingers curled and _sank_ into his shoulders, biting sharply into naked flesh as they kissed, and Ignis sank fully, submitting in the same time that their chests pressed together. 

Sharp teeth nipped at his lip; the wet velvet of tongue followed, and Ignis couldn’t stop the groan that rose from his throat. Noct, as always, was quiet, drinking in the stir between them and their bodies and the sounds that rose within him. He easily led; Ignis followed. They only broke when Noct decided to, though their faces remained close and Noct’s eyes half-lidded as he bumped their noses together, nuzzling, not unlike a cat. 

“Missed you,” his Prince half-muttered, half-hissed. Affection and love honeyed his voice, and Ignis let it wash over him. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered back, and raised his head just enough to nose across Noctis’s cheek. “Solstice is always a busy time of year.” 

“What’d you get me?” 

Ignis felt a grin take hold before he could stop it; rather than crush it back, he allowed it to spread, and a broad smile pulled at the corners of his lips – not unlike the hands that gripped his hair. He copied Noctis and bumped their cheeks together. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

“Whatever it is, it can’t be as good as you.” 

Heat flushed his face; moon-pale arms draped and curled over his red-streaked shoulders, holding, like the compliment might chase him away. Ignis was never the best at accepting compliments, always brushing it off as _just doing my job._ But _this_ was not his job; _this_ was something genuine he wanted and enjoyed. 

_This_ was theirs. 

He sighed and relaxed in the Prince’s arms, head lowering to rest on Noct’s shoulder. 

“Love you, Igs.” 

“ … I love you as well, highness.” Then, as if he was afraid to say it: “You make me very happy.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays and Happy New Years, GTPA! I hope your December was warm and bright; if it wasn't, then I hope this fic brought some comfort to you. Please stay safe in 2021 and remember to walk tall. :)


End file.
